Figurative Linguistics
by GrotesqueWaters
Summary: Hook's been gone, and Bae starts to stop caring about his health. Hookfire fluff.


Bae lies with his back on the deck of the ship gazing at the stars that shine luminescence above him. The ship lulls him into a somewhat somber yet melancholy state of mind. His eyelids begin to droop… Everything is slowly sifting past his mind. As the boat lightly rocks with the ocean water, Bae hears the thumping of footsteps against the wooden planks of the ship's deck. His eyelids flutter, but sleep is attempting to pull him under; and fast.  
"Baelfire?" The accented man questions as he looms above the smaller boy, "What the bloody hell are you doing lying on the deck out here in the cold?" Hook watches the cold air run goosebumps across Bae's skin.  
Bae shakes his head, "I'm exhausted…" he incoherently whispers, feeling rough arms wrapping under his hips and upper back and pulling him into the air, "No… Don't—" but it's far too late. Killian's hoisted the boy into his arms. Unfortunately, the boy's lost quite a bit of warmth, that Hook can't even feel the body heat emanating from the boy whatsoever.  
"Were you bloody thinking at all when you walked out into the cold?" he wondered, but the young one was light years away, hypothermia slipping him under. His pathetic shivering was worrying Killian immensely. The man shifted the boy onto the bed and wrapped the blankets around his frail body. Killian stripped down to just his nickers and slid in underneath the comforter—Bae lips were turning blue. "Alright, lad. Let's get some heat into you," Killian whispered, pulling the boy into his chest. The kid was a damn ice cube, and it took a while for Killian to call this method quits. He toyed with the bottom of the boy's shirt and slipped it over his unconscious head. Then, he rolled the boy on top of himself and rubbed his arms and hips to cause a warming friction. Bae wouldn't be in good shape when he woke up.

Killian shakes his head. Nothing seems to be working. The frost in the boy's hair is melting on the Captain's chest; he reaches down and runs his fingers through the untamable mess, "Come on, Bae… Wake up," he mutters.  
Smee bursts through the door, "Captain! There's trouble on—" the idiot shakes his head, "What's going on?" he asks in reply to the site before his eyes. Killian glowers, "Bae's sick. I don't know what he was thinking going out there to lie on the ship's deck. It's bloody frigid out there."  
Smee bites his lip, "I'll start a fire? What else can I do Captain?"  
Killian's beyond frustrated, and he brings his hand up to shoo his ship mate away, "Start the fire and leave us," he demands.  
Smee scrambles to get a fire going, squatting down and blowing at desolate embers until the blazing warmth begins to fill the room, "Aye-aye Captain." He walks out unbothered by the Captain's gruff demand.  
The boy on top of Hook begins to stir. It's not going to be blissful when he wakes up, "Take it easy, lad," Killian whispers as he brushes the boy's bangs from his eyes. Worry is the only thing that's flooding through the Captain's veins. The boy had been sick for a couple weeks now, and then he made the decision to go out into the cold with minimal clothing? It's nearly infuriating.  
The boy's stirring so vigorously, Killian knows he's going to shoot himself into shock. He wraps his arms around Bae's middle, feeling his own warmth flood into the small body, "Don't open your eyes…" he whispers, "just lie here. Everything's going to be alright."  
A miniscule whine slips from the boy's lips, "Just stay with me, Bae." He's about to start pleading. If the kid forces himself awake, numerous things can happen.  
The Captain's eyes are trained on the boy; watching. Watching precariously and hoping that nothing goes awry. The young boy's eyes flutter open, in turn, he extinguishes a pain-filled moan. He buries his face in Killian's chest, "Hook…" his breath is warm against the Captain's skin, but the boy's cry is heart wrenching.  
"Listen to me," Killian says a bit more sternly that he wants; Bae's shaking on top of him. Killian continues to run his fingers through the boy's hair to try and calm him, "Close your eyes. You're going to send yourself into shock if you don't. You've been ill, and going and doing that was—" he stops, "just breathe. Just say with me and breathe."  
Bae feels miles away. Miles away from everything, and every pain receptor in his body's shooting jolts of electricity into him, "Killian—"  
Hook hushes the boy and shakes his head, "Stop talking. Just stay with me. Wait until you've got some more warmth in you."  
The heat from the boy's breath is marking a pool or precipitation on Hook's chest. He pulls the boy up to his chin and shifts him onto the bed, "You're going to eat some soup, and then I'm putting you to bed," he lands a kiss on the boy's upper jaw.  
Bae buries his head in the pillows and feels the brushing of Hook's facial hair on his cheek, "Don't go—" he whines. Shooting his hand out to try and make contact with the older man.  
"I'm not, mate," he says brushing his callused hand down the boy's smooth back that resides beneath the comforter, "I'm right here." The velvet skin beneath his fingers is almost as infectious as the boy is, "I'm right here," he repeats. He moves slowly from the bed to grab supplies to feed the boy with.  
"Killian!" Bae cries sitting erect in the bed, his eyes searching desperately for some sort of comfort.  
"Bloody hell, Bae…" Hook spins around, placing a bit of water atop the fire, "Would you listen to me for once?" He rushes over and sits on the side of the bed, only now realizing how cold the room is without the blanket for warmth.  
Bae's breathing is so sporadic; he's starting to see stars. And not the ones in the sky. The Captain bundles the boy in the blanket and pulls him into his lap, "Close your eyes, right now. And lean your head against my chest."  
Bae's eyes are searching for comfort in Hook's, but what he gets is scornful demands, "But—Killian—" he tries to reason, but the callused hand presses against the side of his head and coaxes him onto the man's chest.  
"Listen to me…" Killian whispers, making his voice as soft as he possibly can. He's getting a bit frustrated.  
Bae closes his eyes, letting the darkness run rampant behind his eyelids.  
"You've had some dastardly sickness for a few days. Just keep your eyes closed."  
Bae listens to the soft pounding of his others heart, doing his best to let all of his muscles relax.  
Killian unravels the boy from the blankets and pushes him up into his arms as he walks over to the water and warms the boy some food for the evening. The boy's stomach is pressed against Killian's chest as he lifts himself and nestles his head in the crook of Hook's neck.  
The man brushes his lips against the boy's neck and sits them both down on the floor beside the fire, "Lean against me, you're going to eat something."  
Pain's still flooding through his body, and the cold air is nipping at his bare chest, but Bae does his best to turn around and press his shoulder blades into Killian's chest, "I'm not hungry…" he mumbles.  
Killian tilts the boy's head back onto his shoulder, "You haven't eaten anything in three days. Don't attempt to lie to me, mate. My whole crew's been worried about you."  
Bae's tired eyes meet the dazzling blue ones, "I'm just not hungry…" he repeats.  
Hook stirs the contents in a small bowl with a delicate silver spoon, "You're not going to bed without eating tonight," Killian instructed. The delectable waft of salt and spices hit both of their noses and Killian could feel the small grumble in the boy's stomach, "You're not hungry?" he teases.  
Bae shakes his head and droops it to rest against Hook's chin, "I'm not…" he's blatantly lying. He'd been getting sick day in a day out. Not because of sea sickness; but because Hook had been gone for so long. While Killian was on the island of Neverland, Bae had deprived himself of food. Drank only salt water. And waited. He was killing himself.  
Hook spoons some of the soup out, pursing his lips to blow on it, and then resting it against the boy's lower lip, "Come on, mate," he places his lips on top of the boy's head.  
Bae slowly opens his lips and takes in the liquid that seems to scald the inside of his mouth and throat. Wincing he shakes his head and slowly closes his eyes, "That's too hot…" he squeaks out.  
Killian takes another spoonful and tastes it himself. Even without blowing on it, it isn't hot at all, "Keep eating," he instructs.  
Spooning the food into the boy's mouth is tedious. He continually tries to turn away, squirms, doesn't want to oblige. It's a nightmare. He's never been so stubborn.  
When about half the bowl is forced into the boy's mouth, Killian gives up, "Why are you being such a pain, Baelfire?" Hook asks as he wraps his arms around the boy's waist.  
"I think I'm going to be sick…" the boy mumbles, pushing away from Killian and rolling himself onto the wooden planks of the floor.  
Bae starts to dry heave onto the floor, his hands and knees are shaking against his weight. Nothing comes out, but he's clearly a bit more ill than Killian expected.  
"Let's get you into bed…" Killian coos, pulling his arms around the boy's waist and hoisting him to his feet. He can't stand to save his life so Hook has to swoop him into his arms before he falls.  
Gently pushing the boy under the comforter, Hook unbuttons Bae's jeans and slides them down his waist. The small body begins to shiver once again, so Killian folds the garment and drops them onto the floor, curling up behind the boy and taking him into his arms, "How long have you been getting sick?" he asks.  
Through a chattered whisper, the boy answers, "Since you left."


End file.
